


Shit, I did it again

by Pomodoridori



Series: Dog and Rat [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Oral Fixation, and a little degradation? as well as praise kink??, hmmmmm this one reads as a little ooc to me but im posting it anyways because im.....thorsty, i could be doing waaaaay more productive things yet here i am writing porn, specifically kimblees, uhhh mild desperation, very nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomodoridori/pseuds/Pomodoridori
Summary: Miles really, really shouldn't be doing this.





	Shit, I did it again

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! have some porn. Also p much unedited as usual, so pls let me know about major spelling mistakes and such!!  
> please let me know what you liked in the comments section! enjoy ;3

Miles woke up when he felt his mattress shift to the side.  Instinctively, he tensed, grabbing for the knife that wasn’t there, ready for a fight-- and stopped when he saw that it was only Kimblee, buck-ass naked, blinking at him owlishly.

Before Kimblee could open his mouth and spout some stupid shit, Miles threw a pillow at him.  “You woke me up, you bastard.”

The pillow hit Kimblee with a satisfying thump and Kimblee grunted.  Kimblee tossed the pillow back at Miles, face a tinge pink. Miles caught it, and set it to the side.  He glanced at the clock.  _ 8:00 AM _ , it read.

_ Shit! _  The realization that he was already late for his morning meeting with the new recruits had Miles bolting up in bed and scrambling for his dresser.  “Why the hell didn’t my alarm go off,” Miles grumbled to himself as he snagged a pair of underwear, but then Kimblee answered, “Because I turned it off.”

Miles felt the back of his neck prickle with anger, and he had to take a deep breath before he could manage his next sentence.  “I didn’t-- I didn’t fucking give you permission to touch my things, Kimblee.”

Miles could hear Kimblee chuckle.  “I thought you might want to sleep in.  And don’t worry about missing your duties.  I had your meetings rearranged. The first one starts at ten.”

Miles whirled about on his heels, glaring daggers at Kimblee, underwear still clutched in his fist.  “You did  _ what _ ?!” He snarled.

Kimblee smiled, and somehow it looked blank on his face.  “I was hoping you wouldn’t consider it an invasion of privacy--”

“Yeah, of course I would!”  Miles threw the underwear down in consternation.  “For god’s sake, man, you didn’t even ask!”

Kimblee quieted, and while his eerie smile remained plastered on, his eyes had gotten dark and calculating.

Miles huffed, and then took another deep breath to calm himself.  Then he took two more, just to be sure that he wouldn’t yell. “It’s not that-- I don’t appreciate the thought.  But the fact you rearranged my schedule, and popped in here earlier with no warning, and touched my stuff--  _ without my permission _ \-- really pisses me off.”   _ And it’s creepy as hell _ , Miles didn’t add.

“Ah,” Kimblee said.  His eyes had gone soft again.  “I apologize, Major. I should have asked.”

Miles grunted, still too angry to accept the apology, and turned to get dressed.

He heard Kimblee shuffling around behind him, no doubt picking up all the clothes that had been discarded the night before-- and said, with finality, “Just ask in the future.”

“Yes sir,” came Kimblee’s faint reply, and Miles gave him a sideways glance.  Kimblee was half dressed, and he was busy trying to make bedroom eyes at Miles.

Miles snorted.  “As if I’m in the mood to fuck you right now, Kimblee.”

Kimblee wrinkled his nose and went back getting dressed.  “Don’t fault me for trying, Miles.”

“That’s Major to you.”  Miles finished getting dressed, realized he still smelled like sex, and heaved a sigh.  “I’m going to take a fucking shower.” 

Kimblee grunted, still busy with all the damn buttons on his jacket.

Miles paused when he was halfway through the doorway, considering.   _ Kimblee also stinks.  ...I don’t want to be that type of asshole, either…. _  He heaved a sigh, and made a decision that he knew he’d come to regret: Miles looked over his shoulder and said, “Why don’t you clean up, too.”

Kimblee perked up.  “Oh?” 

Miles’s eyes narrowed.  “But I’m warning you-- the minute you do something weird I’m going to kick you out.  And you’ll freeze your dick off in the corridors.”  _ Literally.   _ Miles had, unfortunately, seen it happen.

Kimblee nodded, hurrying to get all his buttons undone again.

Miles watched him for a moment.   _ Those fancy-ass clothes must be a real pain in the butt.  Why the hell does he even wear that shit? It ain’t even pretty. _ Miles shook his head and busied himself getting the shower going.

\---

True to his word, Kimblee didn’t do anything strange in the shower.  He simply lathered himself up-- occasionally asking Miles to pass the soap-- and let the warm water cascade down his form.  He seemed unusually at ease, until Miles remembered that he’d been in prison until recently.  _ Oh, right.  His hands were restrained, so they probably had to bathe him.  Ugh, horrible _ .  Miles shuddered at the thought of an unwelcome stranger’s hands on him.

The shower wasn’t designed for two people, and they kept knocking elbows and brushing up against each other.  Miles didn’t complain, though. In some ways the intimacy was nice. Kimblee eventually finished with the soap and, without asking permission, snagged Miles’s bottle of shampoo.  Miles decided to hold his tongue, right up until Kimblee squirted an incredible amount of shampoo into his hand.

“Oi,” Miles said, “that type’s hard to get all the way out here.”

“Oh.” Kimblee started rubbing it into his scalp.  “Sorry. I should’ve thought of that.”

Miles heaved a sigh, but didn’t keep arguing, since Kimblee seemed genuinely apologetic.   _ He’s probably used to shitty shampoo.  I’m fairly sure they just use soap in prison, so... _

Kimblee spent a few moments working up a lather in his hair.  It was long and dark, and with the weight of the water framed the bruises on Kimblee’s neck  _ just so _ .  Kimblee started to scrape his fingers against his scalp, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.  His adam’s apple bobbed when he made a contented little sigh. Miles swallowed,  _ hard. _  A few soap bubbles made their way down Kimblee’s chest, past his nipples, and over the curve of his stomach to drip down his thighs.  There was a deep bruise from where Miles had grabbed him the night before, and Miles grinned. Then he eyed the patch of hair that trailed down his belly to his-- 

Miles took a sharp intake of breath and rapidly looked away when he realized he’d been staring at Kimblee’s cock.  “I’m, ah--” he cleared his throat, “--gonna get dressed.”

Kimblee opened an eye.  “Suit yourself. I’ll be out in a few.”

“Yeah,” Miles replied.  He hurriedly stepped out of the shower, snagging a towel and trying to ignore how red in the face he was.   _ Goddamnit. _

\---

Miles had recovered by the time Kimblee came sauntering out of his shower.  Kimblee had wrapped his towel around his waist and was holding it up with his hand.  He looked worn out, Miles noticed. And the welt on his belly appeared painful as ever.

Kimblee eventually dropped the towel in order to slip on his clothing.  He scrunched his nose as he held up his shirt. “I hate putting on dirty clothes if I’m clean.”

Miles shrugged.  “Yeah, it sucks. ...Do you want to borrow a shirt?”

Kimblee looked at him, surprised.  “I...yes?”

“Of course you do,” Miles grumbled, standing and walking to his dresser.  He began to sort through it, looking for the smallest shirt. “Here, take this one.”  He tossed it at Kimblee.

Kimblee caught it, looked at the shirt, and wrinkled his nose.  “This is the ugliest shirt I’ve seen in my entire life. How could someone make a red-orange monstrosity like this, much less buy it?”

Miles rolled his eyes.  “Shut up or I’ll take it back.”

Kimblee sighed and slipped it over his head.  “My jacket will cover it up anyway.”

Miles shook his head.  “Whatever you say. Now-- it’s nine already, so I’m going to get a bite to eat and then I’m going to get on with my day.”

“I’ll join you,” Kimblee said.  “In the mess hall,” he clarified, once Miles had aimed a death-glare at him.  But Kimblee had a shit-eating grin on his face that Miles didn’t trust one inch.

\---

Miles found out soon after breakfast why Kimblee had worn that smile.

“You  _ fuck _ !” Miles had hissed, once he realized that not only was he stuck babysitting Kimblee, but also that Kimblee had specifically requested him.  

“Now, now,” Kimblee tutted, “that’s not how one addresses their superior officer.  Much less one who is acting with the authority of the president.”

Miles scowled at him.   _ I can’t believe that Kimblee is in charge now that General Raven’s been disposed of. ...Olivier must be PISSED. _

“...now, we’re going to find Scar.  Eliminating him is the number one priority right now.”

Miles pursed his lips.   _ This is going to be a long day, I can tell. _

\---

“Come to my quarters,” Kimblee had said with his customary smirk and an almost-but-not-quite-wink.

And, like some loyal dog, Miles had shown up.  He hadn’t knocked yet-- he was staring at the metal door that led to Kimblee’s room angrily, not sure if he really wanted to go through with this.  It was obvious what Kimblee wanted. But Miles would be lying if he said he didn’t want to fuck the bastard.  _ But the stakes are a bit different now, aren’t they? _

Suddenly, the door swung open with force, nearly hitting Miles in the face.  Behind it stood Kimblee, who was wearing an annoyed expression, which quickly morphed into one of shock.

“...I didn’t think you’d come,” Kimblee said.  The tips of his ears got a little red.

Miles stared at him wordlessly.

Kimblee held out a hand as if to usher him in, and suddenly his speech became formal:  “Come inside, if you would?”

Miles scrunched his nose at the change in Kimblee’s speech pattern, but complied.   _ Into the rat’s nest _ .

The room was bland, and neat, as Miles had expected.  Kimblee’s suitcase lay on a single rickety chair, and the bed in the corner was made military style.  A cabinet stood next to an ancient tiny stovetop, and a small bedside table accompanied the bed. There was nothing else in the room, save for a few papers pinned to the wall.

Miles blinked.   _ I wonder if he also keeps his home so austere.  ...Does he even have a home, after being sent to prison? _

Kimblee turned to Miles, closing the door with a quiet click.  “The guest rooms here are quite spacious. But cold.”

Miles shrugged.  “We are in the upper levels, after all.  It makes sense.”  _ And the heating in this portion of Briggs is shit anyway _ , Miles didn’t add.

Kimblee sighed.  “It’s a shame. I’ve always gotten cold so easily…” he reached up to scratch at his neck.  Miles noticed he was wearing gloves.

“I want to see your arrays,” Miles said, right as Kimblee offered, “I’m making tea.  Would you like some?”

Miles and Kimblee stared at each other for a moment before Miles said, a little hastily, “Yeah-- uh, sure, tea.”

Kimblee nodded, and turned to the stovetop.  There was a kettle already set on one of the burners, and all Kimblee had to do was light it.

“What kind of tea?” Miles asked, trying to make conversation.  Something felt weirdly frosty between them.  _ Maybe it’s the air. _

“Lemongrass.  Or Earl Grey, if you prefer.”

“Earl Grey, please.”

“Hn.”  Kimblee rattled about in the cabinet a bit before retrieving two mugs.  One had a crack at the lip of it. Kimblee pulled a face. “I need to wash these off.  Excuse me for a moment.”

Miles sat on the bed awkwardly, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom.  The bed was softer than he expected for a guest room-- but that was a good thing. Especially for what he was pretty sure they had planned.

Kimblee finally came back from the bathroom, holding the two cups by their handles.  His gloves were off, and Miles could see water droplets shimmer in the light. His alchemical arrays, too, peeked out from the meat of his palms.  Miles licked his lips.  _ I’ve always had a stupid thing for danger, haven’t I? _

Kimblee set the mugs down on the stovetop on the opposite side of the lit burner.  He said, “Inside my bag are are two tins of tea-- would you fetch them for me?

Miles narrowed his eyes.   _ Why is he asking me to do that when he could easily do it by himself? _

“I need to pour the water into the mugs, since it’s been boiling,” Kimblee added, obviously noticing Miles’s reluctance.

“Hm,” Miles grunted, still unsure.  But he got up and opened up Kimblee’s case regardless, half expecting it to blow up in his face.

It didn’t.

Solf didn’t have much.  Two shirts. A tank top.  An extra pair of pants, and a scarf.  Everything but the scarf was white. The scarf was lilac.  Miles found the tea sitting in the corner of the bag nestled alongside what looked like a cookbook, but from what Miles knew about alchemists it was probably a coded journal.  He took the tea tins and carefully closed the suitcase up.

When Miles turned back around he found Kimblee staring at him with heavy lidded eyes.  Miles wordlessly handed the tea over. Kimblee’s fingers brushed against Miles’s when he grabbed the tea from him, and Miles shivered at the contact.  It felt almost electric, and sent a spark down Miles’s arm straight to his groin.

Then Kimblee wheeled back around, the tips of his ears red, and Miles took the opportunity to admire his ass as he bent over to prepare the tea.

Miles took a few steps-- loudly, so he wouldn’t startle Kimblee-- and leaned over his shoulder, surreptitiously placing his hands on Kimblee’s hips and pushing his face into the back of Kimblee’s neck to smell him.  Kimblee smelled like Miles’s shampoo, and Miles’s soap, and something else that was entirely his own. Kimblee froze beneath him, but didn’t pull away, and Miles smirked. Then Miles pressed his lips against the back of Kimblee’s neck in a kiss.  Kimblee didn’t react until Miles scraped with his teeth and bit, laving at Kimblee’s flesh with his tongue.  _ That  _ prompted a full-body tremble, and Kimblee made a little wheezing noise. 

“Hey,” Kimblee grumbled once he’d taken another breath, gently elbowing Miles in the gut, “stop that.  The tea is ready.”

Miles pulled back and wiped the spit off his lips.  “Good.”

\---

The tea was excellent, which somehow didn’t surprise Miles at all.   _ Stupid fucking perfect Kimblee,  _ Miles thought, frowning as he took a sip.  The tea wasn’t too bitter, or too sweet, or too strong.  It was just right. They were sitting on the edge of Kimblee’s bed, staring at the wall.  Miles had to admit that the silence was pretty awkward, though.

Finally, Kimblee broke the quiet.  “Are you enjoying the tea?”

Miles glanced at him.  Kimblee looked unusually open-- he was relaxed, slumped, even.  Miles got the feeling he was fishing for compliments. “...Yes.” And then, to humor him, Miles asked, “Where’d you learn to brew it like this?”

Kimblee smiled amicably.  “From an Xingese merchant.  The secret lies in the temperature of the water.  And the amount of time the tea leaves steep.”

Miles grunted and took another sip from his cup.  He noted how Kimblee had taken the chipped cup, and how the broken spot at the edge caught on his lip a little, and how Kimblee was brushing the spot back and forth across his mouth subconsciously.  Miles blinked.

Then he made an executive decision.  Slowly, carefully, Miles set his mug down on the bedside table.  He leaned forwards, towards Kimblee, and said, “You’re done with your tea, right?”

Kimblee met his gaze over the lip of his teacup, and his tongue darted out to lick at the rim of it.  “Yes,” he replied. “I think I am.”

Silently, Miles took his cup and placed it carefully next to his.  It was a little shorter, and rounder. More squat. Miles turned back to Kimblee, reaching for his face, only for Kimblee to catch his hand by the wrist.  Miles stilled. Kimblee smiled.

Then, he pulled Miles’s hand up to his mouth and gave a long, slow lick, from the meat of his palm to the tips of his fingers.  Kimblee made eye contact again as he sucked the tip of Miles’s finger into his mouth. Miles held his stare, letting Kimblee pull his finger fully into his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue.  Miles noticed that his mouth had suddenly gotten very dry, and he swallowed. Kimblee continued to scrape at Miles’s fingers with his teeth, pulling back to suck another one of his digits into his mouth.  Miles let him, for a moment, before pulling his hand out from Kimblee’s mouth. Smirking, Miles wiped the saliva on Kimblee’s cheek. It glistened in the light, and Kimblee’s eyelashes fluttered. “Now,” he purred, “I can think of another place where that mouth of yours could be put to work.”

Kimblee glanced down to Miles’s crotch.

“That’s exactly right,” Miles said as he reached down to unbutton his pants and shuck them to the side.  He shivered when the air hit him.  _  Kimblee was right-- it’s cold in here! _

Miles sat back down and pointed to the space between his legs.  “On your knees,” he commanded. Kimblee complied, almost eagerly, kneeling down in front of the bed.  He looked up at Miles expectantly.

“...wait a moment,” Miles said, keeping his expression severe.  He fished through his breast pocket and pulled out a condom, ripping it open and rolling it on while Kimblee watched.  Then, raising an eyebrow, Miles snapped, “Get to it.”

Kimblee started by mouthing on the inside of Miles’s thigh, licking and nibbling.  Miles reached down to pet at Kimblee’s hair, fiddling with his hairtie, eventually snapping it off.  Solf’s hair spilled down across his shoulders. Kimblee kept sucking at Miles’s skin until it reddened, getting achy and sensitive.  Growing impatient with the slow pace, Miles gripped his hands in Kimblee’s hair and forcibly guided him so his face was brushing up against the major’s throbbing cock.  Kimblee made a little stuttering gasp when Miles tugged at his hair, and Miles filed that information away for later use.

Kimblee stuck his tongue out and gave the head of Miles’s cock an experimental lick.  Miles twitched. All Kimblee’s nibbling had made him oversensitive from lack of stimulation.

“Go on,” Miles said, fisting his hands in Kimblee’s hair a bit roughly.

Obediently, Kimblee bent his head forward and took Miles in his mouth.  Miles hummed, satisfied with the warmth from Kimblee’s mouth and the delightful pressure.  Slowly, Kimblee started to suck at the tip of it, laving his tongue across the bottom of Miles’s dick.  His hands were fisted in his white suit pants, and Miles could see a bulge tenting the fabric across his crotch.  Kimblee swallowed around him, wet and hot and so, so good. “Unh,” Miles grunted, and fisted his hand in Kimblee’s hair, yanking him forward by the roots.  Kimblee made a low whimpering noise, and Miles loosened his grip in case Kimblee needed air, but Solf stubbornly kept his mouth on Miles’s dick. One of his hands came up from his thigh to fumble with Miles’s hand, and at first Miles thought he was trying to hold it until Kimblee made an annoyed noise and fisted his hand in his own hair, tugging at it.  Miles got the message, and soon he was cupping the back of Solf’s head in his palm and jerking on his hair. Kimblee made a pleased noise, more felt than heard over the desperate breaths for air Kimblee was taking through his nose, and Miles groaned at the extra stimulation.

“You’re doing-- unf-- so good,” Miles choked out, and Kimblee responded by shoving his face the rest of the way into Miles’s pubic hair.  Miles felt his entire body jolt at the sensation of Kimblee deepthroating him. He kept tugging on Kimblee’s hair, like he knew he liked it, and Solf kept making little desperate noises.  Miles thought he was going to lose it when Solf swallowed around him, hips reflexively jerking forwards.

Kimblee made an almost pained noise, and Miles stilled his hips, biting back a curse, and then Solf swallowed around him again, and then Miles was cumming, pulling desperately at Kimblee’s hair and trying not to jerk his hips.

When Miles came down from his high he found that he’d slumped forwards, panting, and Kimblee was mouthing at his cock.  Impulsively Miles pressed a kiss to the crown of Kimblee’s head, prompting the man to look up at him in surprise. There was saliva dribbled down Kimblee’s chin.  Miles wiped it off with his thumb absentmindedly, noting how Solf pushed his face into the touch, then looked back down at Kimblee’s trousers. There was a wet spot over his crotch, which was still tented up.

“Excited, are we?” Miles rumbled, voice still rough from his orgasm.

“Mm,” Kimblee replied.

“I want you to lie down on the bed,” Miles said, and Kimblee stood shakily, stumbling when he tried to straighten his knees out and trying to mask a grimace of pain.

Miles steadied him by the arm.  “You alright?”

“Y-yes.  Just, my knees hurt.”

“Oh.”  Miles stood, a little shaky himself, and busied himself with disposing of his condom.

By the time Miles had returned, Kimblee was lying supine on the bed, legs splayed obscenely wide.  He had one had fisted over his cock, pumping it desperately, the other clutching at the blankets.

Miles swatted at Kimblee’s wrist.  “Hands off,” he growled, and Kimblee paused for a moment before he started jerking his hand up and down even more fervently.

Miles grabbed Kimblee’s wrist, holding it still.  “I said hands off,” he snarled into Kimblee’s face, and Solf made a low whining noise that went straight to Miles’s dick.

Slowly, as if he were struggling, Kimblee let go of his rigid cock.  He was trembling all over, and sweating.

“God, you’re worked up,” Miles drawled, crawling over to straddle Kimblee’s legs, “I mean, just  _ look _ at what a mess you’ve made.”  Miles looked pointedly at the precum dribbling out of the head of Kimblee’s cock, and then bent over to whisper in his ear, “Do you think you deserve to cum?”  He pulled on Kimblee’s hair as he said this.

Kimblee nodded frantically.

Miles scoffed.  “Do you  _ really _ ?”

Kimblee looked at him pleadingly and mumbled something that sounded a lot like  _ please _ .

Miles leaned back, giving Kimblee’s cock a squeeze.  “I couldn’t hear you. What was that?”

“Please,” Kimblee gasped.  “ _ Please  _ let me come.”

“Good boy,” Miles purred, “I’ll  _ think  _ about letting you.”  He pumped his hand up and down a few times over Kimblee’s dick.  Kimblee whined, trying to jerk his hips up into Miles’s fist, and Miles suddenly stopped moving his hand, tightening his grip almost painfully.

“Did I give you permission to move?”  He demanded.

“No, sir,” Kimblee moaned.

“That’s right.  Keep your hips still.”  Miles yanked on Kimblee’s hair again for emphasis.

Kimblee made a little whimpering breathy noise and went still, save for the tremor in his limbs.  Miles waited a few moments to make sure Kimblee really wasn’t planning on moving again, and then pumped his hand up and down a few times.

“Please,  _ please _ ,” Solf begged again.  “Please--  _ Miles _ \--”

Miles leaned forward and bit Kimblee hard on the neck.  Kimblee choked on a sob and suddenly Miles felt Kimblee’s cock jerk.  He kept pumping Kimblee through his orgasm, until Kimblee was lying boneless and gasping beneath him.

Miles listened to Kimblee pant for a moment, before looking at his come-splattered hand.

“Kimblee,” he demanded, and the man moaned in response, cracking open an eye, “you got my hand dirty.”

Kimblee blinked at him sluggishly, and Miles put his hand near Solf’s face.  “Clean it,” he commanded. Kimblee opened his mouth compliantly and sucked Miles’s fingers clean, pulling a face at the taste.

“Good job,” said Miles, and Kimble gave him an exhausted, slightly watery smile.

Miles lay down next to Kimblee, and pulled him close.  It felt nice in his post-orgasmic haze. He pushed his face into the back of Kimblee’s neck.  “Mm, you’re warm,” Miles said.

“Nnmph,” Kimblee replied.  “Rub m’back for me?”

“Sure,” Miles said, feeling amicable, and noting that Kimblee had, once again, dropped his upper-class accent.

Kimblee fell asleep within ten minutes, and eventually Miles rolled him over and then pulled him close, so he could see his face.

Miles watched him breath for a few minutes, face slack and relaxed and entirely too innocent.  He sighed.

 

_...God fucking dammit. _


End file.
